Sanctuary
by Jalos
Summary: The sequel to Guardian.  Now that the survivors have settled into New Columbus, it seems that they can finally relax... until a new and horrible threat rears its head.  Zoey x Francis, T for blood, language and suggestive-ness, Francis's PoV for a change.
1. New Columbus

**Here it is, boys and girls! The sequel to Guardian! Hopefully a fresh plot and a change of perspective will get me inspired enough to keep the chapters coming as fast as you would like, but since I'm off at college now that may be a tad difficult.**

**Anyway, I hope you enjoy the first chapter of Sanctuary! Yeah, it doesn't have much action, but I needed a chapter to set the scene before I start with all the gunplay and head-lopping.**

**I'm just gonna shut up now and let you read.**

**-O-**

I hate mornings. Always have. That's the reason I could never hold down a steady job, 'cause I almost always slept in and came in to work late.

Well, that and beating a few asshole bosses half to death.

Blinking the sleep from my eyes, I groaned and sat up slowly, the thin blanket sliding off my chest to pool in my lap. Zoey had already left for work - she and Bill had signed up with the security force almost as soon as we got here - so I was alone in our little 'house'.

Swinging my legs off the slightly lumpy mattress, I pushed myself to my feet, stretching. Shuffling over to what passed for a kitchen in this shithole, I poured myself a glass of Zombie Juice. Brewed by one of the guys in New Columbus - says he used to be a chemist before all this apocalypse shit - zombie juice earned its name from the fact that it tasted horrible. However, it had more caffeine, vitamins and shit in it than anything else I had ever tasted in my entire life, so we all quickly learned to shut up about the taste and just drink it.

Tossing back the foul-tasting stuff, I walked back to the bed area and got dressed, tugging on my jeans, white tank and leather vest. It was the same shit I'd worn throughout the apocalypse, and even the best efforts of the washing crew couldn't get all of the blood-and-entrails stink out of it. But at least it was fairly clean, and worlds better than it was before we arrived here.

Tugging on a pair of socks - newly-stitched ones, not the stench-ridden, tattered things that I had when I arrived - and stepping into my motorcycle boots, I strode over to the window, throwing open the curtains and looking out over the sprawling mass of makeshift houses, shanties and lean-tos that made up New Columbus.

The immunes-only city had surprised me with its sheer scale when I'd arrived. There must have been at least a thousand people living here, more people than I'd thought were left alive in the whole country. It was probably around nine or ten, the sun still low in the sky. The corrugated iron and scrap that made up a large part of the architecture here glimmered in the morning light, some of it bright enough that I had to shield my eyes. It was cool but not too cold, a light breeze blowing in to keep the air moving. All in all, a picturesque morning.

Ugh. I _hate_ picturesque mornings. Way too goddamn cheerful for my tastes.

Turning away from the window, I strode back to the kitchen, the zombie juice coursing through my system having scorched the last remnants of my exhaustion from me. Pulling open a cupboard, I rummaged around inside for a minute, extracting a package of granola bars. The little things kept forever, didn't require refrigeration and were - relatively - healthy, so they had become something of a staple food in New Columbus.

Of course, it helped that the city had been founded around a shipping warehouse, and whatever son of a bitch had finally decided to clean the place out had discovered a huge shipment of granola bars in the back. I was starting to hate the damn things.

But food was food, and I was hungry. Tearing open the box, I pulled out two of the chewy bars and stuffed the container back into the cupboard. Scarfing up both bars, I chased them down with a glass of water, then picked up my little homemade toothbrush and toothpaste and gave my teeth a quick scrubbing. Oral hygiene was something everyone lacked during the apocalypse, and although you don't tend to think much of it under ordinary circumstances, you start missing it after a few weeks. It's good to have it back.

Finishing up, I strolled over and flopped back onto the bed for a moment. I had managed to find a job in construction, which in this case meant hauling scrap around and using it to build new homes for the occasional new arrivals. We hadn't had any in a while, so the other construction guys and I had been working on a new perimeter wall instead.

The bad part about the job was that it was goddamn hard work. The good part was that it was in the afternoon, so I could sleep in a little, unlike poor Bill and Zoey who had to report in to the security chief at 8:30 sharp every weekday.

That's another thing: the calendars here are royally screwed to hell. Nobody really knows what day it 'officially' is - or would be, if not for the apocalypse - so the first immigrants here basically re-started according to some calculations about the weather. Everyone's saying its Tuesday, September 27th, but for all we know it could 'officially' be Friday of the next week. But it works for us, and it keeps everyone on schedule, so who am I to complain?

Heaving a sigh, I lurched up into a sitting position, staring around the empty house. Before all this apocalypse shit, if you'd asked me I would've told you that I preferred being alone. Just me, my big black vintage Harley and the open asphalt was all I needed. Now? Now… I'm not so sure. My buddies, those three people who toughed it out with me, fought, bit and scratched to survive alongside me for three weeks of hell… they'd become family. More than family.

But especially Zoey. Zoey was… well, she was something else. From the moment I laid eyes on her, a part of me was in love. Of course, back then the rest of me was still Mr. Big Badass Biker Boy, and was trying to kick the shit out of that little part of me. It was only after we'd known each other for more than two weeks that I let myself open up to her… by tackling a Tank with nothing but Max, my hunting knife.

Got a concussion and a few broken ribs out of that one, but it was worth it. I don't know what I'd do without Zoey. She's the bravest, smartest, sweetest woman I've ever met, and the house just isn't the same without her around.

Pushing myself to my feet, I strolled over to the one and only mirror in the house. Small and a little cracked, it was all that the powers that be had managed to scavenge for us. All in all, we were lucky to get one at all - most people in New Columbus had to make do with a window, a particularly reflective pan, or whatever else they could use.

After a quick shave with my makeshift razor - my beard was starting to get a little out of control - I decided that being alone in this house was boring as hell, and headed out into the street.

-O-

That evening, I came home from working on the barrier wall to find Zoey sitting on our bed, her pistol - security workers were allowed a personal handgun - resting on the bedside table. She was fondling an old, faded photograph, and glanced up when I walked in.

"Hey babe," I said, walking over. I was about to lean in for a kiss when I saw the look on her face. My grin turning into a worried frown, I sat down on the bed next to her, draping an arm across her slim shoulders. "Hey, what's wrong?" I asked.

Zoey looked over at me, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, and smiled sadly. "It's just something I saw out on patrol today… nothing much."

I knew she was bullshitting - we'd been through hell together, and both seen and done things that aren't fit to be spoken of in polite company. Or any company at all. To have her this shaken up, whatever she'd seen must have been pretty bad.

"You wanna talk about it?" I asked, pulling Zoey closer to me. She leaned against my chest, and after a long, long pause she started speaking.

"Today my squad went out of New Columbus on one of our routine sweeps of the surrounding countryside. We came to an abandoned farmhouse, not more than a mile from the city's edge. It… it was barricaded up. Seriously barricaded. It took us twenty minutes of prying with crowbars just to open the front door."

She took a deep breath to fortify herself, and continued. "Whoever had lived there was seriously prepared. They had about a hundred pounds of canned food in the basement, and half again as much had already been eaten, judging by the empty cans. They could have held out for months with the amount of supplies they had."

I felt cold start seeping into the pit of my stomach; I knew where this was going.

"Then we headed upstairs. The largest bedroom - there were three - was… it was an abattoir, Francis. Blood was everywhere. A few bodies were scattered around on the floor, and… two of them were kids, couldn't have been older than twelve. Someone had written on the walls in their blood; 'They're watching us', over and over and over again."

I swallowed the bile rising in my throat, and gave Zoey a little squeeze. "It's okay, babe. These things were bound to happen eventually. Zombie apocalypse ain't all that good for people's sanity."

Taking a long, shuddering breath, Zoey said "I know… I guess it was just the shock that got me. After all this time, I'd almost forgotten that the world's practically ended… almost forgot about the horrors going on outside our walls. Having it shoved into my face again…" she trailed off, and I leaned over, planting a kiss on her temple.

She wrapped her arms around my torso, scooted closer to me on the bed and murmured "…Thanks, Francis. For listening to me, and just being there for me."

"Hey, that's what I'm here for, love," I replied, then looked down at the photo in her hands. It was badly faded, and displayed a girl I immediately recognized as a younger Zoey standing hand-in-hand with a tall, broad-shouldered man in a police uniform. I immediately saw the resemblance. "Your dad?" I asked quietly, brushing a stray lock Zoey's hair into place behind her ear.

She nodded, and reached up to swipe at her eyes before saying "Yeah, that's him. We're standing together in front of the police station he worked at, right after his first - and only - big promotion. This… this picture was one of the only things I was able to save from my dorm room when I ran off after you." She smiled up at me, and added "You remind me of him sometimes. He was big, strong, bull-headed and would have died to protect me… just like you."

At a loss for words, I pulled her towards me for a kiss. Our lips melted together as she slid further onto my lap, and I reached a hand up to the back of her head, running my fingers through her beautiful dark hair. Falling backwards onto the bed and taking her with me, I ran my free hand down her side, feeling her smooth curves, the muscles flexing beneath her jacket - and surviving the apocalypse had given her more than her fair share of those - all the way down to her hips. I felt her hands cupping my head, fingers trailing along my hard jawline, and I broke away for a moment, staring up into my Zoey's amazing eyes. The emerald orbs were huge and smoldering, and I grinned, moving my hand from her hair to the side of her face, caressing her cheek. "I love you," I whispered, and she leaned in close, close enough that I could feel her breath tingling my cheek as she murmured "I love you too, big guy."


	2. The Watchers

"Water break!" The booming voice of our supervisor cut through the idle chatter of the construction team at work, and I took a few grateful steps back from the partially-built wall, reaching up to mop the sweat from my brow.

Walking over to the break table, I snatched a flask of water, tilted my head back and drained the whole thing. Slamming the flask back down on the table, I stepped back to let the next guy on the team take my place, reaching up and adjusting my ill-fitting construction helmet.

There were ten of us, all big, broad-shouldered guys, most of us sporting at least a few tattoos. None of them could take me, though, and they all knew it. Guys like us establish a pecking order pretty quick, and I was squarely at the top. That's how I got first pick of the water flasks.

That's not to say we weren't friends, though. There were backslaps and fist-bumps all around whenever we finished a project. Everyone else just knew that I could kick their ass if it came down to it.

"Hey, bro," came the voice of my buddy, Joe. We had met on my first day of construction duty, and almost instantly hit it off. He was the beta wolf to my alpha, my lieutenant if you're feeling dramatic. He wasn't the biggest guy around, but the son of a bitch was _tough_, and knew his way around a fight. I'd seen him take on two guys the third day I was here, both of them bigger than him. He came out of it with a black eye and a couple bruises, and both of his opponents had a few broken bones.

"S'up, Joe?" I said, turning to face the smaller man. We clasped hands and exchanged hearty back-slaps, then he said "Hey man, you heard yet? Apparently the powers that be here managed to make radio contact with another survivor outpost. They just call themselves Haven, or so I was told. Much smaller than us, somewhere out southwest."

"No, man, I haven't heard until now," I said truthfully, folding my arms over my chest. Somehow, the information hadn't filtered down to me yet, although Zoey, Bill and Louis - how that skinny son of a bitch managed to snag a job in the city government, I will never know - probably already knew about it.

"Yeah, brother," Joe said, his brow furrowing in concern. "They're sayin' all sorts of crazy shit. Apparently they're havin' a real suicide problem on the outskirts of town - they said that ten people have killed 'emselves in the past six days, but only in the outlying houses."

I frowned, trying to push away the cold dread that was slithering up my spine. Something just didn't feel right about that, and it suddenly reminded me of the disturbing story Zoey had told me the night before. All I said, however, was "That's some freaky shit, man."

"Yeah, tell me about it," Joe said, then clapped me on the shoulder and headed off, leaving me to my thoughts.

What was it Zoey had said those poor bastards had written on their walls? 'They're watching us'? What the hell was that supposed to mean? And, perhaps more importantly… was it connected somehow with the suicide problem in this 'Haven'?

As the water break came to an end and we returned to work, I found myself intensely grateful for the wall we were building.

-O-

_Time to wake up._

Jerking upright, cold sweat slithering down my skin, I looked around frantically for a weapon. "W-who said that?" I barked, managing to mostly keep the quaver out of my voice. No one responded, and I clambered out of bed, snatching up Zoey's pistol from the bedside table and flicking on the flashlight duct-taped to the bottom of the barrel.

Nothing. A few quick sweeps of the room revealed it to be completely empty, and I let out the breath I'd been holding. Zoey stirred in the bed, mumbling something, and I turned the flashlight off, climbing back into bed but keeping a hold of the gun. I _knew_ I'd heard someone talking a minute ago.

Then I stiffened. You ever get that feeling when you're alone, usually at night, and its dark and nobody else is there but you _know_ on some primal, instinctive level that someone's watching you? When the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, icewater trickles down your spine, and you can practically feel the eyes boring holes in your back?

Yeah. It was just like that.

My gaze slid to the room's only window, my heart speeding up a few notches, and I caught the briefest flicker of movement through the shutters. Swallowing, I trained my gun on the window, finger hovering over the trigger.

Nothing moved. Whatever it was, it was gone.

Zoey shifted in the bed next to me, muttering and groaning. Gingerly resting the handgun on the bedside table, I slid back into place next to her, wrapping an arm protectively around her slim frame. Whatever the hell was out there, it was going to have to get through me if it wanted to get to her.

Then I heard the very distinctive sound of wood cracking from downstairs.

Leaping out of bed and snatching the gun from the bedside table as Zoey lurched awake, I flicked on the crude, patchwork lighting that the room was rigged with, throwing the space into sickly yellow luminescence. "What's going on?" Zoey asked, voice a little slurred from sleep, as she hauled herself out of bed. Tossing her the handgun and picking up an unused 2x4 instead, I took a protective stance between her and the stairwell, saying merely "We may have company."

"Company?" Zoey asked, and I was impressed by the lack of apparent fear in her voice. "What kind of company?"

"Hell if I know," I growled, taking a step towards the staircase.

Some primal instinct screamed a warning at me, my veins flooding with adrenaline as my body moved almost without my conscious consent. Ducking forward and out of the way, I still caught a resounding blow on the back of my skull. I weigh a good three-hundred pounds, and whatever it was knocked me clear across the room. I managed to roll when I hit the floor, coming up in a boxing crouch. I had lost the 2x4 on the trip over, so simply raised my fists in a defensive posture as I got my first good look at my would-be murderer.

He was a tall son of a bitch, my height at least. Built heavy but not huge, he sported the kind of muscles you see in Old Spice commercials or ads for 'manly' jeans, wearing a pear of tattered pants that probably would have been considered the height of fashion were it not for the horrible state they were in, and nothing else. His skin was a pallid, lifeless grey and crisscrossed with scars, but what really sent chills up my spine was his face. His… no, _its_ nose had been torn off, his mouth leered in a grin of unnaturally long teeth, and its eyes… oh God, its eyes. I couldn't look at them without getting shivers.

Zoey's handgun barked three times, and the… whatever the hell it was… staggered as the bullets slammed home. One took it in the shoulder, the second in the collarbone and the third blew a chunk of bone out of its jaw. The creature snapped back faster than a goddamn spring, although the wounds clearly slowed it a little.

With a yell, I charged forwards, delivering my best left hook to the creature's injured jaw as it turned to face me. Bone shattered, and the thing lurched backwards, but recovered and came at me before I could even pull back my other fist. Taken by surprised, I still managed to swerve out of the way, earning a grazing blow across the chest that still staggered me back a step.

"Francis, get out of there!" Zoey yelled, and I ducked beneath another lightning-fast punch, delivering a vicious snap-kick to the creature's leg. It felt like kicking a goddamn tree, but I felt bone crunch beneath my foot, and the horrible thing wobbled a little. I took the opportunity to dive out of the way as Zoey opened fire again, emptying the pistol's entire clip. One of the creature's horrid, terrifying eyes exploded, its jaw was completely blown off, and a hole was punched through its forehead, splattering the wall behind it with blood and brain matter.

At long last, the foul thing pitched over backwards, landing with a crash and not rising again. "Holy shit…" I breathed, letting myself relax. "What the hell was that, and how did it get in here?"

"I have no idea," Zoey said, letting the pistol drop to her side. Reaching up, I gently massaged the back of my head where the thing had hit me. Reminded me of the few times I'd gotten the shit kicked out of me during my teenage years. "Some new kind of infected, maybe?" I ventured, walking over to the corpse of the horrible thing.

"It pretty much has to be," Zoey agreed, walking over and standing beside me. "Shit… I thought we were done with this."

Taking a step closer to her, I wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her against me. "So did I, babe," I murmured, looking down at the creature we had just killed. "So did I."

That's when I heard the sirens.

-O-

"What the hell happened here?" I asked incredulously. After throwing on our clothes, Zoey and I had charged downstairs and out into the street, only to discover that a house on the other side of the street was on fire. Even from behind the hastily-erected safety line set up by what passed for a fire department in this town, I could smell the reek of burning flesh, and it brought back memories I'd rather have left buried. Memories of blood and death, of hundreds of snarling faces crushed beneath my bootheels, of burning cities, columns of smoke spiraling to the heavens to form a choking curtain that blocked out the sun.

Shaking myself to clear my head, I looked up at the blazing house, straining to make out details in the dancing flames. Who's house was it? How many people died?

Then the front door burst open, and into the waiting arms of the firefighters stumbled a young man. He looked like he couldn't have been more than twenty, but he was so badly burned that it was a little hard to tell. I was amazed that the poor son of a bitch was still on his feet, let alone walking around.

As soon as he was safely away from the burning wreck of his house, he started crying. His charred frame shook with wracking sobs, and I could barely make out murmured words among them. "Watching… always watching… oh, God… I c-couldn't… I couldn't…"

I turned to look at Zoey, and she turned to look at me. My blood turned to icewater in my veins, and I could tell by the look in Zoey's eyes that she was thinking exactly the same thing that I was. "Oh, shit."


End file.
